Seasons of Hell
by Evil Gal Pearl
Summary: Law had his season in hell.
1. Chapter 1

**Seasons of Hell**

**Disclaimer****: ** I don't own Albino Alligator or any of the characters or other things associated with it.

**Author's Note****: **If you are planning to review, please read my profile first. Also, this fic takes place before the events chronicled in the movie. It will contain implied non-con.

**I: June**

_What if this is hell?_ Law started at the thought and propped himself up on one elbow in the narrow, hard bunk. He wanted to sit up all of a sudden, but waking Roach up would be bad. Very fuckin' bad. He shuddered and laid back down, miserably aware that his heart was starting to race. _Oh god, I've gotta get away from here, what if I can't, what if they never let me out, what if this is hell? _His breath caught as Roach shifted on the bunk below him. He realized he was crying a little and felt distantly furious with himself. And he felt a dark, all-encompassing hatred rising in his mind. All this for a goddamn armed robbery? He hadn't even hurt anyone, for fuck's sake! They all deserved to die. If he ever escaped (_never happen_, part of his mind moaned) he'd kill them for this. Slowly. He'd make them suffer, and oh god Roach was getting up-

*******

Some time later, he sat hugging his knees to his chest. He was shuddering and crying and didn't give a damn. He'd been here two years now, and he'd been told that if he stayed out of trouble he could get out in another year. Goddamn liars. This was hell; he might not be a whiz kid, but he was smart enough to know that. This was his eternity, and all those preachers had no idea how bad it _really_ was.

"Shut up, ya bitch," Roach growled below him, and Law shut up.

**II: July**

He had managed to steal a plastic butter knife from the cafeteria. It wasn't very sharp, but it was better than nothing. He sawed patiently at the sole of his foot, staring off into the dark. Roach had finished with him for the night, and he figured he had three or four hours before morning cell check. Of course, the stupid thing was much too flimsy to slit his wrists with. They'd catch him and take him to the infirmary and strap him down and pump shit into his body until he was a gibbering idiot, drooling and pissing in his pants. No, the best he could do with this was to slowly scrape away little patches of skin where no one would see. It worked, though. He had discovered this only a week ago, and had been almost giddy when he found out how much better it made him feel. He would never get out of here, but just maybe everything could be alright anyway. If he could only remove enough skin. If they didn't catch him. His head snapped up and he froze, eyes darting around nervously. After a few minutes he relaxed and began running the knife back and forth again, pressing down. Every once in a while he paused and touched the growing wound, enjoying the damp, sticky feeling. Didn't even hurt, he noted with a slow smile.

*******

During the days, his feet itched constantly. Feeling clever, he never let himself scratch at them. No one commented on his limp.

**III: August**

He felt damn sick. Hot and dizzy. He stared listlessly at the crap they expected him to eat for breakfast and tried not to breathe. The fuckin' smell… He didn't notice Roach glaring at him. Roach snorted in disgust and kicked him under the table, causing Law to start so violently that he would have knocked his tray to the floor if Roach hadn't shot out a hand and grabbed it.

"You better fuckin' eat. If'n you get yo ass sent to the sick ward, I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born."

Wide-eyed, Law quickly picked up his fork and began to eat. He actually almost finished before his stomach gave a violent lurch and he threw it all back up. Roach gave him a murderous look, but one of the guards was already heading toward them; he contented himself with mouthing , "Later bitch."

"Get up", the guard said brusquely. Law glanced quickly at Roach, but the other man was seemingly absorbed with eating the gunk on his tray. Defeated, he stood and allowed the guard to cuff him and lead him away.

*******

He had never known he was claustrophobic before he came here. His arms hurt from pulling against the restraints. They had tied him down like he was a rabid dog. Goddamn them all to hell! His head ached like someone was driving a nail through it. He was so hot. Burning up. And he couldn't even push the fuckin' blanket off. He had begged to be untied, but they had just told him that he was "disturbing the other patients" and if he continued they'd have to sedate him.

They'd put some kind of cold, wet stuff on his feet and bandaged them. No one would tell him what he had, but he had been here a while. Two, maybe three days. Maybe longer. He began to feel cautiously hopeful that he was dying.

Of course, he didn't die. His feet had gotten infected. He was there eight days, and then they sent him back to Roach. In retrospect, he knew he'd been stupid. You couldn't die in hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note****: **This chapter contains non-con. I don't intend to make light of the issue, but this is told from the POV of a very troubled person. Subjects might not always be treated sensitively. If you are likely to be offended by such content, you may want to skip this one.

**IV September**

_To Lawrence Alston: We regret to inform you that your mother, Sylvia Alston, passed away in the early hours of Wednesday morning. She went peacefully, in her sleep. Sylvia was well-liked by all of us here at Shady Elms Retirement Home and will be missed. We understand that you may not be available to make the funeral arrangements and will be honored to do so in your stead. Please let us know of any preferences you may have, including any convenient dates. Our thoughts and prayers will be with you in this difficult time._

Law reread the letter more slowly, eyes lingering on the words "went peacefully in her sleep". He didn't want to forget that bit, and good things had a way of fading out. Then he rapidly tore the thick paper into the smallest bits he could manage before dropping them into the trash can. Damned if he was gonna let Roach get ahold of that news.

So that was it, then. The one person who gave a damn about him was gone. And he hadn't even seen her or spoken to her in years. _She probably didn't even remember you at the end. _He ran his fingers absently over the tattooed R on the back of his wrist. Mom dying wasn't so bad. Neither was this place, not really. As his mother used to say, everythin' was roses.

*****

Night time again. Law straddled Roach and thought about how much better thing were with the right perspective. He couldn't believe he'd let a guy like Roach get to him! He smiled emptily and let up just long enough to get a firmer grip on the pillow before leaning most of his weight down again. Roach's hands came up and pawed at him clumsily before falling back again. Roach made a sort of muffled moaning sound. "Do you like this?" Law asked softly. No answer. He thought Roach's struggles were already getting weaker. He held the pillow in place for a while longer and then carefully shifted around until one of his knees rested on the other man's abdomen. Slowly, Law let go of the pillow and settled back to gaze down at his tormentor. There. Done. What he did next came without any conscious decision at all. Brushing the pillow to the cell floor, he leaned down and kissed the dead man deeply. Then he climbed onto his own bunk and went to sleep.

**V October**

For one of the few times in his life, Law had gotten lucky. The public defender was young and smart and ambitious. He had already found out about Law's mother, and he came in smiling broadly and announced that if Law did exactly as he said he could almost guarantee he wouldn't go down for murder. There was even a slight chance of a justifiable homicide verdict. Law had no history of violent behavior since his incarceration, and juries were sympathetic when it came to dying mothers.

"Did he attack you? Threaten you in any way?"

Law was prepared for this question. "We was fightin'. He pulled a knife on me."

"Excellent!" The lawyer was busily taking notes. "Now your record indicates you haven't been in any serious fights during your time here. Had he provoked you or harassed you in the past?"

"No! Nothin' like that."

"Are you sure? Anything at all would help. Maybe we can do better than just getting you off on self-defense."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got a parole hearing in about seven months. I'd like to make sure there's no black mark on your record over this unfortunate incident. No promises, but it could save you an extra year in this place."

Law hesitated. "Who ya gotta tell?"

"Only the judge and the parole board members. And they can't tell anyone at all."

So Law told him almost everything, leaving out only the kiss. The lawyer listened without comment until the very end. Then he stood and offered his hand, surprising Law into taking it.

"Well, I think I've got enough. Try to look sorry at the trial, and if you're asked, say you're sorry. Other than that, just relax. This is going to be a piece of cake."

**VI November**

Cleaning dishes sucked. The water scolded his hands, the food smelled even worse in the kitchen than it did in the cafeteria, and his ears were ringing from the constant crashes of stacks of trays and buckets of silverware. And on top of everything else, some jerk-off was whistling! Could ya believe it? He paused, for the moment not bothered by the burning water running over his hands. "Shut your fuckin' trap!"

The whistling stopped and the guy muttered resentfully, "Jeez, who pissed in your cornflakes?" But he said it quietly and gave Law a wary look before turning back to his work. Law was getting a reputation for being dangerously short-tempered. Somewhere between his mother's death and his own acquittal, he had developed the habit of responding to smart comments with a few well-placed punches. And that wasn't all.

A new guy had been put in Law's cell two days after he had killed Roach, and Law had instantly understood what he would have to do. It sucked, and he even felt a little sorry for the new guy. But in here you were either a boss or a bitch.

The kid's name was Harry, and he was about five years older than law, maybe a little less. Not really a kid, but a first-timer, and pathetically easy to dominate. The sex was crappy, but if he tuned out the kid's crying and imagined some actress or stripper he did alright. He preferred straight-up violence, though. Harry already knew better than to whine to the guards.

**VII December**

Surrounded by gaudy decorations and the constant, maddening sound of soft instrumental carols, his mood ricocheted between cynical amusement and venomous hatred. Fortunately, he had a convenient target when he was in the latter frame of mind. He knew full-well Harry was thinking about suicide. It simply didn't concern him. After all, he'd dealt with the same situation for over a year and nobody had done shit to help him.

It was the 17th of December, which only meant there were still eight days to go before things would improve to their normal level of hell. It was also a few minutes to visiting hours, and Law was amusing himself listening to Harry beg for his permission to go see his parents and sisters.

"Please, boss. Please let me go. My mother brought cookies! I'll give them to you! I mean, of course they already belong to you, but if I could just go get them-"

At which point they were interrupted by a guard banging his club on the bars. Law jumped and nearly fell off the bunk he was perched on. Furious, he snapped around toward the bars and snarled, "What the hell do you want?"

"Easy there, cupcake", the guard sneered. "You got a visitor."

"Who?"

"Why don't you just come and see? Unless you got something better going on in there. In the middle of something, were you?"

Having had months of practice, Law expertly concealed the flash of rage and shame that comment dredged up. "Why, you like ta watch?"

"Get your ugly ass out here if you're coming. You, too, Miller", he added to Harry. Harry looked at Law pleadingly, and Law nodded slightly. The little twerp actually beamed as he scurried over to the bars and stuck his wrists out.

"Well?" the guard prodded impatiently.

"Awright." Curious in spite of himself, Law stalked over to the bars and stared malevolently at Harry, who went pale but couldn't really move out of the way until the guard finished with the bracelets.

The three walked down the hall side by side, Law and Harry with their hands cuffed behind them and the guard gripping each man by the arm.

*******

It was just some old, tired-looking lawyer. His neat suit looked absurdly out of place in the dingy little visiting room. Apparently they were just getting around to carrying out his mother's will.

"She named you her administrator, but you weren't available. Obviously." He tried a small smile that withered and died under Law's look. "Anyway," he continued, slightly flustered, "the lady named you her sole heir. It comes to just under $16,000 after all the bills are paid. It's been placed in a saving account under your name."

Law waited. "That's it? What, have they outlawed phones?"

"Law requires that I notify you in person." This said rather stiffly.

"Hey, guard! We're done over here", Law called, and ignored the hand the lawyer extended. The suit left, and Law looked around at the other visitors as he waited to be returned to his cage. These people were from the outside, and their bright clothes and happy, hopeful expressions were a novelty. His eyes settled on a trio of men two tables away. One inmate and two outsiders. A guy in his early twenties was talking animatedly to the inmate, both of them grinning and laughing. The third was affecting a comic expression of anger, but he kept losing it and cracking up like his friends. Law watched them hungrily until he was taken away.

When Harry returned sometime later, Law contented himself with snatching the cookies and retreating to his bunk to stare moodily at the ceiling. He wanted to hit someone, and Harry was right below him. But he was afraid if he started he wouldn't be able to stop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note****:** Some offensive words are used to refer to homosexuals in this chapter. No offense is meant, and I'm not a homophobe. I'm just trying to write in character.

**January VIII**

She was new, and Law watched her intently every time she passed. Not really what he'd call pretty, but it might have been the uniform. There were only three other women working here by his count, not including the med ward. All the nurses and some of the doctors were girls, too. Were any of them pretty? He couldn't really remember.

His mind was wandering, and he snapped it back to her with a quick flash of anger. Damn it, why wasn't he turned on by her? He could imagine her buck naked and not feel even a flicker of arousal. Same thing with the other women here, but he'd figured he was just bored with them.

Had he become queer? _No!_ he quickly answered himself. _You don't like men, either!_ And that was true, despite the slightly hysterical tone of the words in his mind. He hadn't even fucked Harry in almost two weeks. Sex with Harry was a friggin' chore. And Roach-

Well, Roach was dead.

_Okay, calm down, least you're not a fag. _Then what the hell was wrong? Was he never gonna want sex again?

And someone must have heard that thought and laughed, because there she suddenly was, standing just outside the bars. She was trying for that look of bored distaste the other guards always seemed to wear, and not having much success. He could almost smell her nervousness and fear.

"Come on, Alston. Random drug test."

He smirked at her out of pure habit, then let her cuff him. Be great to get out of here for a few minutes. Sometimes pacing back and forth or doing push-ups just didn't cut it. And he was finding out that there were only so many hours you could sleep per day.

And shouldn't the door have opened by now?

She was being cautious, checking and rechecking her equipment and fiddling with the buckle over her stun gun. Trying to prove she was ready to handle the extremely important and dangerous job of walking a cuffed prisoner down a hallway. Law rolled his eyes. "Come on, girl, I ain't gonna bite ya."

She gave him a harsh look, and her fingers curled around the buckle. He shrugged and took a step back. _Just my luck, ta get a skittish rookie. Probably she's trigger-happy, too. _Apparently satisfied, she went back to messing around with her stuff.

It suddenly occurred to Law how vulnerable he was right now. What if Harry wanted revenge? Would this bitch even interfere? Starting to feel very uncomfortable, he gave the guard an impatient look which she didn't notice. Or pretended not to notice. He tried to turn around to check on Harry, but he couldn't make himself move. He heard Harry coming; he'd feel the first strike any minute now…

"What are you doing, Alston?" the guard asked warily.

He had her full attention now, and it must be because Harry was getting close and maybe she was trying to decide whether to just walk away or stay and watch. Harry was saying something, but Law couldn't make it out. It was just a confused jumble of noises. It was getting louder. What the hell could he do? If he could get him on the ground, he might be able to take him out by kicking. _But I'll never knock him down with my hands cuffed! _He began tugging at the restraints, trying to at least get his arms in front of him.

"Hey. Shut your mouth, Alston. Now", she said.

But Law was beyond hearing her. He didn't even hear himself anymore. But he was speaking. "Get away from me, get away from me, get the hell away from me, you asshole, get away from me, I'm gonna kill you, get away from me!"

The guard grabbed her baton and whacked the bars a few inches in front of his nose. The effect this had on Law was galvanic. He screamed, spun around, and ran at Harry, who was already cowering in a corner. As it turned out, he could knock him to the ground with his hands cuffed. Easily. And as far as taking him out by kicking him, he didn't have anything to worry about. He didn't stop until the new female guard pressed her new stun gun against his neck.

*******

It was cold. How long had he been here? Couldn't be long, because his neck was still throbbing painfully. He gently felt the raised burn mark there. Another scar. No big deal. He'd been stupid. Why in the world had he attacked Harry with a guard standing right outside? Try as he might, and there was precious little to distract him in here, he couldn't remember what had set him off.

Where was he, anyway? Maybe this was the hole. That would make sense. But if so, it wasn't anything like he'd heard. The lighting was bright fluorescents. There was a toilet in one corner and a bare mattress against the other wall. The mattress was bolted to the floor. He woken up lying on it, wrists free of the cuffs. There were four featureless walls instead of bars, and a door with a tiny barred window and a food slot.

Other than being cold, it wasn't too bad. Maybe they'd give him a blanket before lights out. Law began walking around the room, running one hand along the wall. On the third lap he began to hum tunelessly. This occupied his attention for nearly three hours. Then he curled up on the surprisingly comfortable mattress and went to sleep.

Sometime later, a voice called, "Wake up! Chow!" A tray was shoved through the slot and Law groggily went to get it. He ate, then immediately went back to sleep. Between what had been injected while he was unconscious and what had been added to the food, he had enough sedatives and tranquilizers in his bloodstream to sleep for at least twelve hours and be slow and clumsy and easy to handle for another twelve. And that was how Law spent his first night in the psych ward. 


	4. Chapter 4

**February IX**

After the first few days they had let up a little on the meds enough for Law to understand where he was and what was happening. He was furious. But more than that, he was scared. Not that he would ever acknowledge that part. His mind was still sludgy, like he was always half asleep. He couldn't concentrate. The worst part was what the help called blanking out.

If he wasn't careful, he'd just drift off. This occurred while he was awake (or what passed for it, now), sometimes even while he was moving around. Hours or minutes later, he'd suddenly be alert again. The time in between was a total blank. Which meant anything could have happened during it. Who knew what the hell they might have done to him! For that matter, what might he have been doing?

It was the meds, of course. He stared the orderly, or nurse, or whatever the fuck he was, in the eye and told him he wasn't taking them. Hell no. The guy didn't seem intimidated at all, which made Law even angrier. He just offered the little plastic cup with the pills again, an ingratiating smile frozen on his face. Law knocked them out of his hand and threw a punch at him. He was shocked by how slow and clumsy he still was. Mr. Nurse dodged him easily and pushed a button on the beeper thing clipped to his waist.

Another guy in scrubs entered, and they pushed Law down onto the mattress. One of them kneeled on him and pinned his arm down while the other gave him an injection. He stopped trying to shove Nurse Two off his chest. Didn't matter. They were in charge. He couldn't think anymore, and he couldn't fight. It was over.

Nurse Two slowly got off him, ready to spring again if he showed any signs of struggling. Law gave him a look full of hatred, then deliberately dropped his gaze. They left, and Law stared at the ceiling for hours. For the first time, he was grateful that it was easier not to think about things.

Over the weeks that followed, he left his cell only to shower and to see the shrink. He got to shower by himself for the first time in years. Undoubtedly there were cameras in there, to make sure he didn't start banging his head on the wall or something, but at least there was the illusion of privacy. He went every other day.

The shrink saw him twice a week, on what he eventually found out were Mondays and Fridays. Someone would come get him, cuff him, and take him down a couple of halls to the office. The halls were eerily quite in this area of the prison. None of the other psych inmates seemed to feel like yelling at those who walked past. There was no cursing or crying or humming, either. The other rooms might have been empty for all he ever heard or saw.

The shrink looked like a lawyer, and Law disliked him on sight. He was pushed down into the chair on the other side of the desk, and his wrists were strapped to the chair arms. "Fuckin' cowards", he muttered. No one replied.

"So, Mr. Alston, may I call you Lawrence?"

Law stared at him silently.

"Well, Lawrence, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? How did you end up here?"

"I'm not telling you anything. Fuck off."

"Well, I have to talk to you for at least half an hour, or I won't get paid. Any favorite sports teams? Political views you'd like to share?"

"No."

"You can say anything you want, whatever comes into your head. I'm legally forbidden to tell a soul. You aren't being taped, and there aren't any cameras in here or anything like that. So if you want to rant about the guards or tell someone why one group or another is fundamentally inferior, now's the time."

"Go to hell."

"Why don't you want to talk to me?"

Law slumped down in his chair and tried to cross his arms, scowling when the straps stopped him. He'd just have to wait this guy out.

"Alright, then, let me call the orderlies and you can go. I'll have to recommend that your medication be increased."

Starting up, Law said, "Why?"

"You're obviously still upset. The meds will help you relax."

"No, don't! Alright, I'll talk to you!"

"Glad to hear it. If you'd like, you can begin by telling me why the idea of receiving more medication distresses you."

"You already know why. I can't think. Why do you have to make it worse? I can't even- I can't think."

"That is a common misconception of people who aren't used to the pills. They're meant to provide a feeling of calm, that's all. If you'll just relax, you'll find you can think as well as ever."

"That's not true", Law muttered, but he was beginning to see the futility of this. Why bother telling the shrink that the meds were making him dull and weak, or that his memory of the past few days was full of gaps and he got scared even thinking about what that meant? This guy wasn't going to help. He was one of them. Best he could do now was play along and hope they didn't make it even worse. They could, he knew. Anytime they wanted.

"Tell me about how you came to be here."

Law tried to remember. He couldn't, not really, but the guy kept providing little details about the crime he was supposed to have committed. So eventually Law began making things up to fit the details. Storytelling had never been one of his talents, and he added as little as possible to what the shrink said, mostly just agreeing with him. Robbery sounded alright, and he was relieved that the guy didn't accuse him of anything too horrible. Arguing with him might have been dangerous.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Albino Alligator_ universe, and I don't intend to make any money off of it.

**Author's Note:** If you're planning to review, please read my profile first. Might save you some time.

**X. March**

"How are you doing today, Lawrence?" the fat shrink asked.

Law grimaced. He fucking _hated_ being called "Lawrence". Almost as much as he hated fat, patronizing shrinks.

"Fine", he muttered resentfully.

"You don't sound fine."

Law turned a seething glare of the guy. Patronizing _asshole._ "I'm chained to a friggin' _chair_."

The shrink considered him for a moment, peering over his stupid half-moon shaped glasses. "If I have the restraints removed, are you going to be cooperative?"

Sometimes it was just too much. Law leaned back and grinned sardonically. "Ya have any idea how much ya sound like a third-rate spy movie?"

The doctor sighed. "Very well. What would you like to talk about today?"

"Tell me 'bout cha wife. She hot?" He had been in the psych ward for over a month, and fear of what they might do to him had had plenty of time to be replaced by the familiar hatred. _I'll kill you, old man._ Law's smile widened at the thought. But he wasn't crazy enough to say it out loud, in spite of what they said.

"Let's talk about your family."

"Screw you."

"Lawrence…"

Law shrugged. "Parents dead, no brothers, don't know where my sister is. Maybe she's dead, too."

"What was your relationship with your father like?"

"I loved him to death and he loved me to little bitty pieces and we went fishin' every Sunday." Law's tone was low and mocking.

"How would you like to go back to the general population?"

"I don't give a rat's ass where you put me."

"The orderlies tell me it has been over a week since you've displayed any violent behavior."

Law got as comfortable as the cuffs would allow and tuned out the ensuing psycho-babble. For a while there, they'd had him so drugged up that he couldn't walk straight. Now he played back what that had felt like and let the rage and hatred flow through him. Couldn't even remember most of that time. Just holes. Yawning black holes. Gaps filled with nothingness. Who knew what the dirty bastards had done to him. He looked up at the fat shrink (still talking, of course) and felt his skin crawling with revulsion. It complimented the hatred nicely.

He wasn't aware he was clenching his fists. And he almost wasn't aware of the fact that as soon as the orderlies got here and un-cuffed him he planned to lunge across the desk and bash the fat shrink's head in. Law just managed to catch the tail end of that thought and pull it back to the front of his mind. He considered it almost lovingly as he watched the fat lips opening and closing. Imagined the sound of the man's face smashing into the cheap imitation wood. The nose would break first. It would make a wet crunching sound. Law knew that. What would it sound like when his skull cracked?

"So, I believe you're well enough to return to your old cell." The shrink was wrapping up. Law said nothing. It was taking all his concentration to kill the plan he had just been thinking of. The plan was dying damn hard.

The shrink pressed the button and the orderlies came traipsing in like clowns out of a clown car. They un-cuffed him and Law bit the inside of his cheek hard (_Would it be a crunch or a crack?_). Finally, the vision of killing Ol' Fatty receded.

Then Fatty was actually coming toward him, his hand extended. Just _asking_ for it. A thought- _I'm not drugged up this time-_ flitted through Law's mind. And on the heels of that came a nightmare image.

"Get the fuck away from me, suckhole", Law snarled. The look in his eyes was so rabid that the psychiatrist, who had been working at the prison for 21 years, drew back a couple of steps. All thoughts of shaking hands were promptly dismissed. He nodded at the orderlies, and they took the patient away.

***

The next morning after breakfast (some unidentifiable slop which Law ate without comment) they returned him to his cell. Harry looked up fearfully as Law entered. "You want anything, boss?"

Law remembered Harry, and he knew he ought to do something to make sure Harry remembered him. He'd handle that later. Maybe tonight. For now he only muttered, "Fuck off, ya pansy." Then he lay down on the bunk and closed his eyes.

"Um, boss?" a timid voice said quite close by. Law slit his eyes open.

"What."

"I'm really sorry to disturb you, boss…"

"Fuck's sake, _what_?"

"Are you taking the bottom bunk, now? I mean, is it okay if I sleep in the other one? Do you want both, or…" Harry's voice had faded to a whisper sometime during this speech, and eventually it just trailed off altogether.

Law propped himself up on an elbow and looked into Harry's pale, scared, sheepy face. He had completely forgotten that the bottom bunk was Harry's. After a moment, he began to laugh. It wasn't a pretty sound, and it sent Harry scurrying off to the other end of their cell. That made Law laugh harder. He turned on his side and lay back down, feeling almost content. Harry was damn amusing. Maybe he wouldn't hurt him too badly tonight.


End file.
